


don't go to sleep to dream

by returnsandreturns



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, First Time, Flirting, Kissing, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: Eve goes back to London.She gets a shitty flat of her own and a job that’s a step below the one she started out with before she set her eyes on justice in the shape of a goddamn peerless woman with a knife in her boot and a gun behind her back. Eve torched her life to find Villanelle and now she’s back where she started, nothing in her hands, nothing behind her back, nothing.





	don't go to sleep to dream

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in an hour or so the same day I finished the series and also am almost exclusively a fluff writer so MILEAGE MAY VARY.

Eve goes back to London.

She gets a shitty flat of her own and a job that’s a step below the one she started out with before she set her eyes on justice in the shape of a goddamn _peerless_ woman with a knife in her boot and a gun behind her back. Eve torched her life to find Villanelle and now she’s back where she started, nothing in her hands, nothing behind her back, nothing.

Eve goes back to London before she knows if Villanelle lived through what she did to her, what felt like the only reasonable conclusion to being in bed with a psychopath who’s been targeting her. Even though, underneath the feeling of her heart pounding and her hand getting sweaty around the knife’s handle, she is aware of three things: there are so many ways that she could fuck this up and end up dead, a few weeks ago she wouldn’t have been able to hurt someone like she’s about to, and she wants to kiss Villanelle more than she’s ever wanted to kiss anyone in her _life._

The thought makes her nauseous even though it’s not surprising.

Obsessions often turn sexual, even when they shouldn’t.

And she is— _obsessed._

*

At night, wrapped in three blankets because her heat is unpredictable and seems to like to go out on the coldest nights, Eve dreams about gauzy pink dresses and champagne sticky under her feet and blood-covered hands. She washed her hands twenty times a day after she got back. It took two weeks and raw, chapped skin before she felt clean again.

She’ll wake up in the middle of the night and shake off a dream about Berlin, about Moscow, about being pressed up against her refrigerator, about—about pressing _her_ up against her refrigerator. No weapons in sight.

Tonight, her dreams are dark and blurry and all she’s left with when she startles away to a sound at her window is the feeling of falling.

And then she sees a pale, sweet face in her window and finally hits the ground.

*

“What’s wrong, Eve? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Villanelle breathes, clearly pleased with herself when she reaches up to brush fingers over Eve’s cheek. Eve lets her, if only because she feels paralyzed, standing here in her kitchen with—with a _ghost._

“Well, I did stab you the last time I saw you,” Eve says, swallowing hard.

Villanelle ghosts a hand over her stomach before she grins, maybe genuinely.

“You know, I was mad for some time,” she says, fingers moving to the hem of her sweater, “but once I knew I wasn’t going to die, I couldn’t contain my _pride_.”

Villanelle pulls her sweater over her head and Eve gasps involuntarily, covering her mouth with her hand, shocked at the sight of the scar that _she_ put there. Ugly and jagged on a smooth stomach that she could’ve kissed instead.

Jesus, she’s fucked.

“You can touch it,” Villanelle says.

“. . .are you planning on killing me?” Eve asks, because they may as well address that elephant before any touching happens.

“I promised I wouldn’t, didn’t I?” Villanelle says. “You know me, baby. I keep my promises.”

“Those are normally—kills, but—” Eve starts, shaking her head and sighing. “Do you _want_ me to touch it?”

Villanelle nods regally but catches Eve’s wrist when she reaches forward.

“You must promise me something first, though,” she says, blinking at Eve with big eyes that might have nothing behind them, the barest hint of a smirk.

Eve twists her wrist enough to lace their fingers together and Villanelle’s mouth falls open.

Eve thinks she must be one of the few people in recent years who have been allowed to see her this vulnerable. It feels like a new kind of power that she doesn’t know how to wield, like she has some kind of say in how Villanelle lives her weird, highly illegal life.

“I won’t kill you,” she says.

Villanelle’s smile is real.

Eve’s not sure how she knows, but she does.

*

Eve makes canned soup and toast, because that’s all she has in her kitchen right now but also because Villanelle’s hand was freezing in hers and _warm_ seems like a game plan. She gives her a sweatshirt and a pair of woolen leggings and shamelessly watches as Villanelle changes in front of her in the kitchen—strips down to nothing and gives Eve’s time to wander from her tits to the scattering of blonde hair between her legs, neither more distracting than the scar that Eve traced for five slow aching minutes earlier.

“You like what you see?”

She lifts her head up to see Villanelle with an expectant look, raised eyebrows.

“Of course,” Eve says, huffing out an exhausted laugh, exhausted just from being in the same room with her. “ _Look_ at you.”

“I want _you_ looking at me,” Villanelle says, bending over to give Eve a perfect view of her ass as she picks up the sweater. “That’s all I’ve been wanting, Eve.”

“Just looking for attention?” Eve asks.

“And _affection_ ,” Villanelle says, looking wicked as she pulls the sweater over her head and shakes her hair out. “Maybe if you give me enough of it, I’ll be less of a monster—wouldn’t that be a fun game?”

“Loving you?” Eve asks, involuntarily, but it surprises Villanelle again.

“. . .I don’t know about _love_ ,” she says, airily. “I thought maybe you’d like to get in bed with me again. Would you?”

She gives Eve time to think about it, puts on the leggings and boosts herself up to sit on the kitchen counter next to where Eve is standing, kicking out enough to gently graze her leg.

“Y’know, the first time I described you to a sketch artist?” Eve says. “Everybody in the room thought I wanted to fuck you. Not me, but—I’ve been known to be wrong.”

Villanelle looks triumphant, possibly the slightest fraction of what she looks like after finishing a mission, licking her lips in a way that sends sparks shooting down Eve’s spine.

“Shall we?” she asks.  

*

The first time they kiss, standing beside Eve’s bed, it’s nothing like the dreams she’s had about it. It’s startlingly real. It’s Villanelle’s fingers tangled and tugging in her hair and their cold feet pushed together and messy, rough kisses because, unsurprisingly, Villanelle likes to be bitten.

She urges Eve on to bite and suck at her neck and Eve murmurs, against her skin, “Haven’t done this since I was a teenager.”  

“Don’t worry, you’re still quite good at it,” Villanelle says, voice a little wavery, toes curling.

When they finally make it into bed, half-undressed, Eve follows a thought that’s been forming in the back of her head and pushes Villanelle down, pinning her by her shoulders. Villanelle’s pretty eyes go wide and she catches her breath.

“Remember what you said about not killing me,” she warns, without any heat or fear at all, just— _anticipation._

“You want someone to control you, don’t you?” Eve asks, adding it to the profile of her that lives in her head, thinking about the issues of power and control that must be such a huge part of Villanelle’s life and her development. “That’s fascinating, I—”

“Do _not_ psychoanalyze me when I’m mostly naked,” Villanelle interrupts, pouting exaggeratedly.

“. . .right, sorry,” Eve says.

*

Villanelle barely makes any noise when she comes, just gasps and soft whines. Eve wants to ask her if that’s an assassin thing but realizes now is not the time, so she just sucks on Villanelle’s clit until she’s pulled off by her hair—surprisingly gentle. This is her first time with a woman but it seems natural. She can still feel Villanelle’s long, long fingers curled inside of her, her thumb on her clit, their mouths open and panting against each other.

“See,” Villanelle says, when Eve moves to lie next to her before curiously wrapping her arms around her and pulling her close. “This is what happens when nobody stabs anyone. That was lovely.”

“I don’t think you have room to talk,” Eve says, but she just holds Villanelle tighter, surprised when she just melts into the touch.

She has five thousand questions for her just based on this experience alone, but it’s late and she might change her mind by morning because what she’s doing is _ridiculous_ , but—Villanelle is falling asleep in her arms and feels slight, like she’s harmless. And she just wants to be allowed to want this, so she lets herself sleep and hopes for clarity when she wakes up again.

**Author's Note:**

> I usually write Daredevil [but here's my tumblr anyway](http://returnsandreturns.tumblr.com)


End file.
